Unwrapped
by pelespen
Summary: Another little ficlet more than a drabble . They've been apart for so long...


* * *

Her breath skipped out of her in a soft stutter as he ran his hands over the fine material of her dress, not stopping at the hem of skirt, but continuing along thighs encased in silk, just for him.

This was all just for him, even if she would never admit it, not even to herself.

It nearly broke her heart the way he dropped to his knees before her, his grey eyes filled with reverent adoration. He'd been deprived for too long – they both had.

"Sirius…" she whispered, plunging her fingers into the thick silky waves of ebony that fell to his shoulders.

His only answer was a sigh as his head fell against her, resting against her stomach like a man who'd found his oasis after weeks without water. His fingers skimmed the seam of her stockings over the backs of her knees and calves down to her ankles until they found the precious little straps of those shoes he loved so much. He wanted to lick the patent leather, but he was too starved, too impatient, not enough time, too much time wasted waiting as it was.

Still, there was something to be said for packaging, and for the slow unwrapping of such a dear gift. He knew she'd done all this for him – the shoes, the dress, the silk that bound her legs – it was completely unlike her, and yet absolutely, perfectly, _her_.

Sirius smiled wickedly against the soft fabric of her dress. Hermione needn't have bothered – they both knew that. He loved that she did, but she knew he liked her better unadorned - completely naked, preferably tied to one of the mahogany posts of his bed. Yes, it had been a long, grueling six months. But this – this little game of dress-up… he knew it was just as much for her as it was for him.

His fingers slowly slipped the tiny leather strap from its buckle on first one shoe, then the next as he coaxed her feet from the ridiculously high-heeled torture devices. She'd even had her toenails painted that nearly-black colour he'd once commented about. He paid another glance up into her soft brown eyes, smirking knowingly. She didn't forget a single thing, and neither did he.

He could smell her now, and he knew – their time apart had been just as hard on her as it was on him. He paid a promise of a kiss to her left thigh, tracing his fingers softly up that seam of silk, up under the hem of her skirt, until he found the lace that encircled her thighs. As much as he would have liked to just rip the things from her body, hearing her sigh as he slowly slid them back down her legs was too delicious.

"Sirius…" she said again, and he noticed she was frowning.

"Impatient, my love?" he teased.

Hermione licked her lips. She couldn't lie. She nodded. He was so bloody deliberate sometimes, in direct contrast to his volatile temper and impatience in most other areas of life. Why was he being so damned _slow_? It had been _six bloody months_, and with all the effort she'd put into this outfit, she'd expected it to be on the floor in a matter of seconds. But no, he seemed bent on being the one in charge, _he_ teasing _her_, instead of her original intention.

Her pulse quickened as his hands slid back up her legs, this time not stopping at her thighs, but continuing to the tiny triangle of lace held in place by two strings that, again – served more for presentation than any functional use.

She gasped sharply as his fingers traced the edge of that flimsy material, skimming just a centimeter from her soaking wet center. She couldn't help but move against him, her body pleading for more.

Her fingers curling against his scalp was actually his undoing. He could have teased her, teased them both. There was little he loved more than proving who was really in control, letting his bookish little witch believe she had the upper hand until it was _she_ who was squirming needily, begging sweetly for him _him_ as he tormented her senses. But when she needed him, _truly needed_ him, he could never deny her.

Pulling roughly her to him, the soft material of her dress bunching almost comically around his head, he slid those two straps of barely substantial knickers down her legs, revealing the treasure that awaited his lips.

* * *


End file.
